


Three Joanna McCoy fics

by winterover



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Growing Up, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterover/pseuds/winterover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Reposted from the kink meme. These are all about Jo, but they're not all part of the same continuity.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Three Joanna McCoy fics

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from the kink meme. These are all about Jo, but they're not all part of the same continuity.

**The Great Summer Adventures of J-Squared, or Five Things Joanna And Jim Did Together And One Thing They Did With Bones.** ~1450 words, G. (Originally posted [here](http://st-xi-kink.livejournal.com/8627.html?thread=24280755#t24280755).)

 **1\. Observed the local fauna in its natural setting.**

They stop off at the supermarket first. Then, when they get to the park, Jim shreds up the bread into little pieces in its bag and hands it to her. "Throw it," he instructs her, solemnly chewing on one of the slices he'd saved in his pocket - it's raisin bread, it's _good_ \- and she does, giggling, tossing out big handfuls.

The bread is well-received. And the pigeons in San Francisco are well-trained. Five minutes later, Joanna's got herself a fan club. "Jim!" she shrieks, half in terror, half in delight, as she runs around the statue, bag clutched in her hand, and they follow her in a big fat head-bobbing gray wave. Pigeons aren't terribly intimidating to Jim, but they're almost half as tall as Jo is. "They're chasing me!"

"That means they like you," Jim calls, laughing. Eventually, when the bread is gone, he does rescue her, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her away from the pigeon overload, and she holds on tight and makes faces at them over his shoulder.

  
 **2\. Sampled the regional cuisine.**

"Well, mint chocolate chip is the green one with chocolate chips. Chocolate mint chip is the brown with mint chips. Triple chocolate mint is chocolate with chocolate swirls and chocolate-covered mints. Peppermint chip is white with red swirls and chocolate chips. And chocolate peppermint is brown with red and white swirls." The counter attendant is chuckling a little. Jim pauses, slightly out of breath, and looks down at Joanna. The little girl looks slightly overwhelmed. "Now," Jim continues, patting her hair, "what I usually get is a cup with a scoop of chocolate mint chip on the bottom, peanut butter in the middle, and raspberry cheesecake on the top. Your dad likes chocolate butterscotch chip, which is chocolate with butterscotch swirls and chocolate chips - or, wait, butterscotch chips, I think. Yeah."

"You should work here, buddy," jokes the ice cream guy.

"Nah, I'm good," Jim answers, grinning. "I have a starship. But - wait, do you guys get free ice cream?" Realization's starting to dawn on the guy's face.

"Um," says Joanna hesitantly, and she points. "Can I get the pink one?"

"Strawberry?"

"Yeah. Strawberry."

"Sure."

"With _rainbow_ sprinkles?"

The guy gives them their ice cream on the house. He even gives them a little tub of chocolate butterscotch chip to take home for Bones.

  
 **3\. Hosted a party for six.**

"More tea, Nona?"

"Why, yes, Miss Jo," 'Nona' says politely, handing over her flowered china cup with a smile. "I would love more tea."

Bones won't arrive in Riverside until day-after-tomorrow - damn medical conferences - and Jim's glad his mother has her holo-cam at hand to document it. Afternoon tea for six. Miss Jo, Mr. James, Nana Nona (Jim had devilishly dubbed his mother "Nana 'Nona" one day and Jo, with a five-year-old's love of alliteration, hasn't used anything else since and likes shortening it to just "Nona"), Mr. Brownie (bear), Miss Clara (doll), and Marigold, his mom's cat, who's actually on top of the bookcase ignoring them but has a place setting nonetheless.

Jo pours cups of tea (lemonade) all around, and takes one off to the bookcase to try and coerce the cat into drinking. Jim watches his mom look adoringly at her adopted granddaughter. Reason #17 on his mental list entitled 'Why Bones + Jim = Great'. There are, so far, 372 and counting, and Jim's pretty sure he could remember every one if he had to.

"Biscuit, Miss Winona?" he says airily, holding out a chocolate chip cookie, and his mom laughs.

  
 **4\. Pondered a future in veterinary medicine.**

As it turns out, Jim's mom's orange cat Marigold isn't just fat and lazy. She's actually pregnant. When he finds her, the day after the tea party, making a birthing nest and licking at herself _in his open suitcase_ , he freaks out a little, realizes his mother isn't home, and nearly has a panic attack. He doesn't want to move the cat, but he doesn't want the cat popping out babies right on top of the uniform shirt he has to wear in a week.

"What's wrong?"

He scratches his head nervously as Jo wanders in. "Uh - Marigold's gonna have kittens, I think."

"That's _good!_ " She beams. "Don't be worried! Mama cats know how to do it." Then she gets a glimpse of what Marigold's lying on. "Oh, bad kitty. Not s'posed to lie on Jim's shirt." Before Jim can stop her, she's lifted Marigold into her arms, gently, and the cat doesn't seem to mind it a bit. She's purring. "Go and bring gloves and make a cat bed," Jo orders him, and Jim runs to find a box and some towels or something, recognizing the tone of _I know exactly what I'm doing_ in her voice. Funny how that seems to be hereditary.

The kittens come in due time - three of them. Jim sits cross-legged on the bed, alternately wincing and wanting to vomit but continually in sheer awe at how Jo clears the unruptured membranes away from the kittens' faces so they can breathe and places them close to Marigold's belly for warmth and nursing. "How do you know how to do this?"

"I saw it on a show once," Jo explains, gingerly petting Marigold's head. "Good kitty. All your babies are born, I think. Good girl."

"You know, little Bones," Jim remarks, as Jo pulls her gloves off with some difficulty and clambers up on the bed beside him, "I think your dad'll be impressed when we tell him about this." He puts an arm around her and they watch Marigold lick her babies clean.

  
 **5\. Got an early start on her driver's education.**

Jim can be reckless, sometimes, when it's just his own neck on the line, but he's also no idiot. He wears a helmet, and makes sure there's one for Joanna too, and he even installs a specialized seatbelt just for her.

When he can finally tear her away from the new kittens, he takes his dad's old motorcycle out to the quietest back road he can find - not hard to find one, out here in farm country - and puts Jo in front of him on the seat, his arms and knees caging her in. "Go fast!" she squeals, and he pretends to, though it's no more than the barest crawl by cycle standards, so slow he almost has to put his feet on the ground to keep them from falling over sideways. "Faster!" He obeys, speeding up to a brisk walking pace.

"You're a speed demon!" Jim calls happily. "Your dad's afraid to ride with me."

"Daddy's a scaredy-cat! Faster!"

Bones finally gets in later that day. At the dinner table, Jim smiles sheepishly at the wide-eyed, horrified expression on his face, and his head-shaking mother, as Joanna burbles over with the tale of how they went fast on Jim's motorcycle today and it was _so fun._

  
 **+1. Made a trip to the best playground in the universe.**

Joanna has permission to spend the last few days of her vacation up on the Enterprise, docked in orbit. They run through the empty halls playing tag, bounce on the new trampoline in the rec room (a trampoline on a spaceship; a brilliant idea or a calamity waiting to happen?) and Jim scrounges up a red Ops minidress, like a big smock on her, and a spare earpiece and sits her at Communications. Bones, grinning, does her hair in a ponytail and takes a video, Ensign McCoy picking up encoded Klingon transmissions, to show Uhura when she gets back from Nairobi. And Jim gives Jo permission to draw flowers with a wipe-off marker all over the screen at Spock's station - in fact, he tells her exactly which screen is the best to draw on. Maybe Spock'll like his surprise, maybe he won't.

Later on, they watch movies. There's a big vidscreen embedded in the wall of Jim's quarters, on the 'office' side, and it's not hard to get the bed unbolted from the deck and moved over to face it. They all lie down together, Jo in the middle, and watch old Disney cartoons and get buttery popcorn in the sheets. Jim actually hasn't seen most of them, but Jo and Bones know all the words to the songs, which amuses him. Yeah, sure, Doctor "No, Jim, I _don't sing_ ".

Jo finally falls asleep at 2300 hours, three quarters of the way through 'Beauty and the Beast', and Bones, lying cuddled around her with his eyes drifting shut, looks like he's about to follow. Jim gazes at them, at their brown hair and sleep-rosy cheeks and tip-tilted noses and the identical downcast sweeps of their dark lashes, and wishes it could be the last day of summer forever.

  


 **The Laws of Attraction.** ~750 words, G. (Originally posted [here](http://st-xi-kink.livejournal.com/7030.html?thread=16378742#t16378742).)

Bones, with a smile and a microscopically thin excuse, leaves them alone to talk. A plate of butter cookies sits between them, untouched. Jim sort of wants one, but he also doesn't want to make the first move.

Joanna stares.

On the chair across from her, he stares back.

"So."

"So you wanna marry my daddy."

Joanna has her mom's blondish hair, but God, but her eyes are _exactly_ like Bones'. It's unnerving. She has that look her father gets when you tell him no, you don't _think_ you have any broken ribs, it doesn't hurt that bad, honestly.

Jim coughs. "Well, uh, an actual _marriage_ is probably a ways down the road -"

"But that's what guys 'n' girls do when they wanna get married. They go on dates for a while and then they have a wedding. Guys 'n' guys do the same thing, probably."

"Listen, Jo, I just want to know you're okay with me _dating_ him."

"You want my permission?"

Exasperating, all McCoys, even the eight-year-old ones. "I want your _approval._ "

"What if I say no?"

Jim's blood runs cold. She wouldn't - would she? She'd seemed to like him when they met that one time before... "Would you?"

"What if?" she repeats.

He sits up straighter and glares at her. "Then I'd be unhappy that you didn't approve, but it wouldn't stop me from liking your dad and spending time with him."

It was the right thing to say. He _knows_ it. Joanna smiles, small and sly. "Good. So you like my daddy _lots._ "

"I do, yeah."

"My daddy needs somebody to like him lots. My mama used to, but they're divorced now."

"I like him lots. A _lot_ a lot."

"Daddy gets cranky when there's nobody takin' care of him."

Jim tries not to crack a grin. She's only eight; no way she meant that as the double entendre it is. It's true nonetheless. "I know. I try to take care of him. Make him have fun even when he wants to be grumpy."

"Me, too. So - you wanna date my daddy, there's some rules you gotta follow. I'm his daughter so I get to make rules." Jim nods obediently as Joanna starts counting them off on her fingers. "Number one. Make him go to sleep at his bedtime instead of staying up working all night."

"Got it."

"Number two. Make him not drink so much coffee 'cause it's bad for you."

"I'll try."

"Number three. Make sure he doesn't get hurt, otherwise I'll comm you and tell you off. Then I'll come in on a shuttle 'n' tear a strip off you."

Jim's hands tighten on his knees. "I swear, I'll do everything in my power to make sure he doesn't get hurt, Jo."

"'Kay. Number four. You gotta tell him jokes and things, or act funny, to make him laugh. When I make him laugh, he always says it makes him happy, but since I can't stay on your ship all the time, you have to do it."

"I will."

"Good." Joanna looks satisfied. "Now, 'member, for when you get married, that Daddy sleeps on the side that has the window. And when he cooks stuff, he puts hot sauce in everything, so if you don't want hot sauce, you gotta tell him so. And he doesn't like loud noises when he wants to do paperwork, but he likes music sometimes. Only music with no words, though, otherwise he gets distracted."

"Got it. No words."

"Make him comm me every single day - vids, not just audio. I don't care if he's all gross and banged up, I still wanna see him. Tell him I'm not a baby and I can handle the sight. And also, you gotta do this sometimes -" Joanna hops up and delivers a little peck of a kiss to the end of Jim's nose, then retreats, blushing slightly. "He likes that."

Interesting. "I can do that, sure."

"Good. I think that's it. Daddy, you can come back now," she adds, raising her voice, and the bedroom door slides open and Bones strolls out, hands in his pockets.

"Good talk?"

"Great talk," Jim says with a smile.

Bones nods, pleased. "Good. So, if you haven't ruined your appetites with cookies, it's just about dinnertime - mess hall?"

Joanna scampers out the door ahead of them, and Jim snags a cookie to tide him over as he sidles out from behind the coffee table. He grabs Bones around the waist to halt him for a second, and plants a kiss on the end of Bones' nose. Bones raises a brow, questioning, though there's a smile playing around the edges of his mouth.

Jim just grins.

  


 **The Doctor's Daughter**. ~1700 words, PG. (Originally posted [here](http://st-xi-kink.livejournal.com/379.html?thread=2315899#t2315899).)

In retrospect, it's sort of a _good_ thing that Klingon ship had attacked them unprovoked. The crew of the Enterprise is long overdue for some relaxing shore leave, damn it, and if what it takes is a few disruptor hits to the hull and a stay in spacedock for a little patching up and polishing, well, McCoy isn't going to complain about it. Enterprise needs the time off as badly as he does, McCoy figures, and after eight years out exploring the final frontier, only returning to Earth intermittently, he wants to spend some quality time with his daughter.

McCoy steps off the shuttle and back onto the solid Earth ground of the bustling San Fran port for the first time in seven months, and finds himself smiling, unconscionably giddy. Jim smiles back at him, looking surprised.

"Bones. Don't think I've seen you so happy in...a while."

"Joanna said she has permission to come meet the shuttle and spend some time here with me."

Jim slaps him on the back. Uhura and Chekov have already gone ahead, attracted by a roving salesman's display of small furry things, and behind them, McCoy can hear Sulu saying something to Scotty about a baseball game, and Spock saying something else to Sulu in that measured, unexcitable tone of his.

What exactly Spock's words are or what Sulu's answer is doesn't concern McCoy. He instead looks around at the crowd - or namely, the females in the crowd, at every turned-away brown head and slim waist and yellow dress, feeling a pang of regret at the fact that he can't easily discern which one his teenage daughter is. Though they keep in regular touch through letters and vidscreen chats, he's missed so much of her growing-up years. What he knows for certain is that she has brown hair the same shade as his, minus the creeping gray (unless she's dyed it, in which case they're going to have words), is tall and slender (unless she's gained or lost weight in the three weeks since they last chatted), and loves the color yellow (unless she's suddenly developed an aversion to it).

"Joanna?" he calls. He gets no response. Jim hefts up his overnight bag on his shoulder and looks around.

"I don't see her."

"Me neither," McCoy says, a bit of worry in his voice. "I'll go look for her. Probably got distracted in the shops."

He doesn't have to look far. With Jim trailing along behind him, McCoy soon finds his daughter, at the edge of a crowd gathered around the aforementioned salesman.

"Hey, tribbles!" exclaims Jim, sounding far too excited over balls of fluff than a Federation Captain ought to, and when McCoy gives him the eyebrow he clears his throat. "I mean, uh, tribbles. Fascinating. My friend in third grade had one. Did you know they reproduce asexually? They're not allowed on-planet unless they've been sterilized."

"They're technically parthenogenic," McCoy says distractedly. He was right - she is wearing a yellow tunic, the color of buttercups. "Jo? Joanna!"

It's noisy. She doesn't appear to have heard him, as she is talking to...Chekov. Who is standing closer to her than propriety, or at least McCoy's idea of propriety, would dictate, and holding up a tan-colored puffball for Jo to pet. McCoy watches, a little stunned - she giggles, high and sweet, as the tribble makes a little move toward her, and Chekov laughs and murmurs something to her that McCoy can't make out.

Something in his stomach twists.

"Uhhh," Jim says, casting a furtive sideways look at McCoy.

"Get your officer away from my daughter, Captain," McCoy says flatly.

"How old is she, again?"

"Fifteen."

Jim gulps. "Wow, right, yeah. Chekov!" Chekov and Joanna both look up, Jo's face lighting up and Chekov's dopey expression turning to one of surprise. He hands the tribble to a random person nearby and straightens up.

"Yes, sir?"

"Dad!" Joanna runs toward him and McCoy drops his bag on the floor and catches his daughter, spinning her around in a welcoming embrace as if she were a little girl again. _But she **is** a little girl,_ some part of his brain insists, as he sets her down, smiles and kisses her forehead. Jo beams up at him, looking so mature and beautiful, and McCoy has to swallow past a sudden lump in his throat. _No. She's not._

 _But that still doesn't mean she can flirt with twenty-five-year-old starship navigators._

"I missed you, Jo," is all he says, stroking her windblown brown hair back from her face. "You get taller every time I see you, don't you. Damn."

"D-dad?" Chekov stutters, turning quite noticeably pale. Jim takes Chekov's arm and mutters 'fifteen', and then Chekov looks like he's going to faint. "I am - I am sorry, I think I shall - excuse me," he gets out before turning and disappearing into the crowd, and Joanna raises one eyebrow. Jim sees it and laughs, but covers his mouth with his hand to stifle it, though his eyes are still laughing.

"Hey, Jo."

"I didn't even teach her the eyebrow, she did that by herself," McCoy says proudly, putting an arm around his daugher's shoulders. "C'mon, we're gonna go have a little chat, you and I."

"Will it be about that guy? Don't punish him, Uncle Jim," she says coyly, blowing Jim a kiss since McCoy's arm is preventing her from leaping on him like a puppy in greeting. Or maybe she's just too old for that now. Jim reaches over and ruffles up her hair and she smacks his hand away, looking affronted, though the pink in her cheeks is darkening. "I think he thought I was the same age as him."

"He better have," McCoy says darkly, "or I might just let him bleed out next time he gets skewered on the end of a spear."

"He got stabbed with a _spear?_ "

"Hippooo-crateeees," drawls Jim, and McCoy scoffs.

"Doesn't apply in these matters. I'm well within my rights as a parent." He takes Joanna by the shoulders and turns her so he can look her sternly in the eye. "Now, listen. Chekov's too old for you, and he will be too old for you until you've finished med school. And," he adds meditatively, "for a minimum of five years after that."

Jo wrinkles her upturned nose. "But he'll be like _fifty_ by then," she says, bypassing their usual _but I'm not going to be a doctor I'm going to be an actress/zookeeper/fashion designer_ debate. Jim snorts.

"All the better, then. He's not worth it, anyway."

"That's not nice, Daddy." Jo's voice is mildly rebuking. "He seemed fine to me."

"Ha. Thirty seconds of acquaintance versus seeing him trip over his own feet on away missions and drool over any and every alien priestess he's met in the last eight years? Horrible taste, and no self-control. He's a brilliant kid, but he's kind of an idiot when it comes to stuff like this - trust me. I mean, he drinks _vodka._ "

"Does that mean something bad?"

"He even hit on _Jim_ once, dammit," McCoy rants on, refusing to be sidetracked. "If that ain't an indicator of taste -"

"Is this because I'm his CO, or because I'm me?" Jim asks, sounding genuinely curious, and Jo snickers, but McCoy just talks over them.

"You need to pick a nice guy who'll treat you right, not a - a womanizer like their ilk. That poor kid idolized Jim from the start; he never had a chance."

"Hey!"

Joanna also ignores Jim, and gives McCoy an innocent look. " _You_ hit on Uncle Jim, dad."

Sad, but true. Hitting on him isn't the only thing he's been known do to Jim Kirk, either, but Jo doesn't need those particular scarring mental images. "Sweetheart, Daddy only hits on Uncle Jim when he's had too much to drink and doesn't realize he's doing it."

"Still here, aural function normal," Jim says dryly.

"But that makes you sort of a man-whore too, dad," Jo says airily. "'Cause you want in Uncle Jim's pants."

Jim goes off into some kind of seizure in the background as McCoy considers this surprising declaration. Joanna's inherited his plainspokenness, that's for sure, and to be honest he kind of loves it. He doesn't like dumbing things down for her. But he feels a scolding is in order, because it's the sort of thing any normal horrified father would do. Plus, her guessing, somehow, about him and Jim - maybe not so good if she spilled it to Jocelyn. "Hey, now. Where the hell'd you learn language like that?"

"Daaa-aaad. It's true, isn't it?"

He presses his lips together hard before he replies. "Never drink whiskey, Joanna. It makes you do things. Or...don't drink more than four at a time. You're a McCoy, but with your body mass four's probably your limit."

"Leonard _McCoy_ ," chokes Jim. "I'm not a father - I don't think - and even _I_ am appalled."

What? McCoy knows his daughter isn't stupid. He's just trying to educate her, prepare her for the real world since he won't be around and her mother and aunt and uncle are probably guarding her and her delicate sensibilities like they're preparing her to take the veil. "Oh, yeah," McCoy adds as an afterthought. "Drinking is bad; don't drink 'til you're eighteen."

"Joanna," Jim says solemnly, "You might not realize it now, but you've got the best father in the quadrant. Remember that."

"Okay." Jo looks at Jim with bright eyes, then up at McCoy - then she giggles again as she looks down to see a stray tribble, purring loudly and inching across the floor toward her shoe, and McCoy takes advantage of her momentary distraction to smile at Jim. _Thanks_ , he mouths, and Jim gives him a sloppy, rakish little salute in answer.

Joanna bends down to scoop up the wayward, vibrating animal, stroking its soft brown fur and humming to it. So much an adult, yet so much a little girl at the same time. "Can I keep it? I think it likes me."

"I don't think your mother would like it," McCoy says doubtfully, scratching it where the ears on a cat would be, and Jo shakes her head.

"Mom would hate it. She never lets me have pets. She thinks tribbles are creepy and gross, even though all they do is sit there and purr and make you happy."

"How much is it?" McCoy says promptly, unzipping his bag to dig around for credits, and Joanna squeals and hugs him. Jim bites his lip.

"I'm gonna go find Chekov."

"Bring him here when y-"

"Do not," McCoy cuts in smoothly, "bring him here."

" _Dad,_ he's -"

" _Twenty-five._ "

  
end.

  



End file.
